The other day, I came across a gut-wrenching story of a man wanted to kill himself over a woman. The sad thing about this story is that it is repeated over and over again all over the world … every single day.
But have you never wondered … What happens after the bad women get married? Do they suddenly become loving wives and caring mothers? If not, then what happens to their husbands? And what happens to their children?
Let me answer the questions with two stories.
Story #1 – The Creation of a Pimp
I came across this story in The Rawness and I’ll present it verbatim.
But what I do believe is that people like Ahmed, the true naturals who don’t get emotionally hung up on chicks no matter how hot they are, who are effortless in their confidence and game, tend to have some emotional distance with their mothers, whether it’s just some aloofness to all-out rage.
I first stumbled on this notion in world-famous master pimp Robert Beck AKA Iceberg Slim’s autobiography Pimp. In it, the young Iceberg Slim grows up with a loving mother and his nice guy stepfather. It is the happiest time in his life. His mother has just been left by his philandering, unreliable father and times are initially hard for young Iceberg and his mother.
There were no jobs in Indianapolis for Mama and for six months we barely made it on the meager savings. We were pennisless and with hardly any food when a tall black angel visiting relatives in Indianapolis came into our lives.
He instantly fell in love with my lissome beautiful mother. His name was Henry Upshaw, and I guess I fell as hard for him as he fell for Mama.
He took us back to Rockford, Illinois with him where he owned a cleaning and pressing shop, the only Negro business in downtown Rockford.
In those tough depression times a Negro in his position was the envy of most Negro men.
Henry was religious, ambitious, good and kind. I often wonder what would have happened to my life if I had not been torn from him.
He treated Mama like she was a princess, anything she wanted he got for her. She was a fashion plate all right.
Every Sunday when we all three went to church in the gleaming black Dodge we were an outstanding sight as we walked down the aisle in our fresh neat clothing.
Only the few Negro lawyers and physicians lived as well, looked as well. Mama was president of several civic clubs. For the first time we were living the good life.
Mama had a dream. She told it to Henry. Like the genie of the lamp he made it a reality.
It was a four stall, opulent beauty shop. Its chrome gleamed in the black-and-gold motif. It was located in the heart of the Negro business section and it flourished from the moment its doors opened.
Her clientele was for the most part whores, pimps and hustlers from the sprawling “red light” district in Rockford. They were the only ones who always had the money to spend on their appearance.
The first time I saw Steve he was sitting getting his nails manicured in the shop. Mama was smiling into his handsome olive-tinted face as she buffed his nails.
I didn’t know when I first saw him that he was the pin-striped snake who would poison the core of our lives…
There was really nothing out of the ordinary that day. Nothing during that day that I heard or saw that prepared me for the swift, confusing events that over the weekend would slam my life away from all that was good to all that was bad.
Now looking back remembering that last day in the shop as clearly as if it were yesterday my stepfather, Henry, was unusually quiet. My young mind couldn’t grasp his worry, his heart break.
Even I, a ten year old, however, knew that this huge, ugly black men who had rescued Mama and me from actual starvation back in Indianapolis loved us with all of his great, sensitive heart.
I loved Henry with all my heart. He was the only father I had ever really known.
He could have saved himself an early death from a broken heart if instead of falling so madly in love with Mama he had run as fast as he could away from her. For him she was brown-skin murder in a size-twelve dress.
Steve was a sleazy, sneaky low-level pimp that had Iceberg’s mother dripping wet with lust and eating out of his hands.
Yes, poor Henry’s fears had foundation. Mama had never loved my stepfather. This kind wonderful man had only been a tool of convenience. She had fallen in love with the snake all right…
One scene in my life I can never forget and that was that morning when Mama had finished packing out clothes and Henry lost his inner fight for his pride and dignity.
He fell down on his knees and bawled like a scalded child pleading with Mama not to leave him, begging her to stay. He had welded his arms around her legs, his voice hoarse in anguish as he whimpered his love for us.
His agonized eyes walled up at her as he wailed, “Please don’t leave me. You are sure to kill me if you do. I ain’t done nothing. If I have, forgive me.”
I will never forget her face as cold as an executioner’s, which she was, as she kicked and struggled loose from him.
Then with an awful grin on her face she lied and said, “Henry, Honey, I just want to get away for a while. Darling, we’ll be back.”…
As the cab drove us away to the secret rendezvous with Steve sitting in his old Model T, I looked back at Henry on the porch, his chest heaving as tears rolled down his tortured face.
I’m sure it surprises no one to hear that things just got worse and worse from there. Steve convinced Iceberg’s mom to search out and reunite with Iceberg’s dad under the pretense of reconciliation, so that they could set him up to be robbed. Iceberg’s dad had straightened up and gotten a good job and was in a nice house and had accumulated belongings worth stealing. She not only double-crossed his dad, she acted as if she didn’t have anything to do with the double-cross, and cried hysterically when she “discovered” the robbery alongside Beck’s dad, who had no suspicion of her involvement. Iceberg AKA Beck recalled
For many tortured years she would suffer her guilt. She had made that terrible decision on that long ago weekend.
I know my lousy old man deserved what happened to his goods. I know Mama got her revenge and it was sweet. I am sure, but it was bitter for a kid like me to know that Mama was part of it.
Perhaps if Mama had kept that burglary cross a secret from me, in some tiny way I might have been stronger to fight off that pimping disease. I don’t know but somehow after that cross mama just didn’t seem like the same honest sweet Mama that I had prayed in church with back in Rockford.
Can you picture a child going through such experiences and still growing up to put women on a pedestal and seeking their approval? Me neither. Late in his life, long after he left pimping, Robert “Iceberg” Beck gave an interview reminiscing on his life and career:
Koblin: Do pimps hate their whores?
Beck: Well, not necessarily consciously. The best pimps that I have known, that is the career pimps, the ones who could do twenty, maybe thirty years as a pimp, were utterly ruthless and brutal without compassion. They certainly had a basic hatred for women.
My theory is, and I can’t prove it, if we are to use the criteria of utter ruthlessness as a guide, that all of them hated their mothers. Perhaps more accurately, I would say that they’ve never known love and affection, maternal love and affection. I’ve known several dozen in fact that were dumped into the trash bins when they were what?…. only four or five days old.
Koblin: You say you loved your mother in your book.
Beck: Of course, but underneath the threshold of consciousness, I know that I must have hated her, as demonstrated by my neglect of her through the years.
Story #2 – The Creation of a Woman-Hater
I came across this story in Gillis Triplett Ministries and I’ll present it verbatim as well.
Am I blaming society’s ills on single mothers? No! Am I attacking or demonizing single mothers? A thousand times no! I am dealing with a critical issue that has devastated multiple generations. One that has not been properly dealt with for too long. I have watched this particular group of single mothers reek havoc and sow seeds of discord in the lives of countless children. I had one incident in which a woman, (I’ll call Racine ) was dating a man, she got pregnant by him and they moved in together.
Like many women who give themselves to dishonorable men, Racine assumed that she could change him and that he would eventually marry her. She was so convinced of her abilities to alter his conduct, that she got pregnant, AGAIN! You should know that Racine was in the church while this disgraceful chain of events took place. After their second child, her live-in boyfriend just up and left. He coldly and calculatedly abandoned her and both of their kids.
It is no secret that this is the norm for single women who get pregnant by their boyfriends. But like many women, Racine chose to ignore those irrefutable facts. She somehow believed her situation would be different than the countless single women who are left pregnant and alone every year. Before bolting, her enigmatic lover prepped his family, friends and co-workers not to divulge any information of his whereabouts to his ex.
For three months Racine pleaded with his family and friends to tell her what happened. After constantly listening to her forlorned cries, one of his family members couldn’t take it anymore. She broke down and told Racine the truth. Her Night In Pining Armour had dumped her and hurriedly married some bimbo. When Racine heard the heart traumatizing truth, she promptly joined the (BSMC), Bitter Single Mother’s Club. She turned into an angry and vengeful single mom.
Her means of getting revenge against her ex was to physically abuse both their children. She would do things such as force them to sit outside in the freezing cold for hours at a time. She would choke her older son, ( I’ll call Joseph ) while swearing at him and cursing his father. Because of her physically and verbally abusive behavior, Joseph learned to hate females.
Because of how his mother abused him and his little brother, Joseph detests the female gender with an unforgiving passion. Like his mother had been drilling in his ears for years, he followed in the footsteps of his father. He got a female pregnant while in high school, but instead of abandoning her and baby like his dad, he married her. Not because he loved her, but to prove his mother wrong. Joseph had taken on the same vengeful and abusive spirit as his mom.
In less than two weeks after saying, “I do!” he physically assaulted his new bride. He has been abusing her ever since. Even at my behest, his wife refused to file charges. She felt as though she could change him. Their little girl will be 5-years-old in 2004 and Joseph has never held a conversation with her because of distrust and hatred of all females. The only things he has said to his daughter is, “Shut up! Didn’t I tell you… No! Sit down and, go get me a…”
Joseph kicked her across the room one night when she attempted to stop him from physically assaulting her mother. Did you comprehend what you just read? You just read how generational curses are started. Even worse, Joseph’s daughter is a likely candidate to believe that all men are dogs and become an angry Black female.
What you are reading are not aberrations. These incidents happen everyday.
Do I Blame Mothers and Women?
Although I firmly believe that bad mothers are destructive towards the well-being of the family, blaming them does no good. When you blame another person for the way you act, you have a victim’s mentality. You have no control.
And remember, the key to be a powerful man is to always be in control. Maybe you had a bad childhood. Maybe you had bad experiences with girls when you were growing up. Maybe you still have bad experiences with them. Life is not fair to you.
Regardless what the circumstances are, the way you act and the way you react is totally within your control. This mentality is what separates the powerful from the weak. This mentality is what separates the haves from the have-nots. This mentality is what separates the bosses from the simps.
If you realize that you place women on a pedestal (by worshiping them), bring them back down onto the level ground you’re standing on. If you place them in the pit (by despising them), bring them back up onto level ground you’re standing on. Adopt the balanced view. And don’t let them control the course of your life.
You are the one in control.
Do you let circumstances dictate the course of your life or do you maintain full control?